


Aloysia

by starfishies



Category: Amadeus (1984), Mozart - Fandom, Mozart l'Opéra Rock - Mozart/Baguian & Guirao, W. A. Mozart, wolfgang amadeus mozart - Fandom
Genre: 18th Century, Classical Music, Classical Music RPF - Freeform, Composer History, F/M, Historical, Wolfgang Mozart, composer, mozart - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2017-03-13
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:15:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 18,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7427086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishies/pseuds/starfishies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After leading the life of a child prodigy, Mozart must make his own way as a composer and musician. Set in the summer of 1777 during his unchaperoned visit to Mannheim, this story tells the tale of his first love and his bumpy stay with the Weber family. Told from her perspective, Aloysia, the hard to impress songstress has a hard time seeing what all the fuss is about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Summer In Mannheim

Chapter 1 – Summer in Mannheim

 

It was warm that summer. 

Warmer than usual.

The air was thick with unshed rain, there was no way to escape it. The heat clung to everything, it made you weary.   
The ladies hid inside, the men sighed – sweat running down from their brows, their collars seeming to close in, ever tighter as the sun rose. 

If only for a breeze, or a summer storm, to free us from the slow suffocation of summer in Mannheim!

 

It was early still and I lay in bed, ill from the heat, unable to dress for I could not bear the torture of a gown – not today! As I stared up at the ceiling, plaster cracking, their spidery fingers reaching out across the surface, I prayed for some relief. Perhaps if I simply lay here, I will be transported away. My mother clattered around downstairs, baking, washing, tidying – there must be another boarder coming in. Maybe they will be someone exotic, from a far away land. Maybe he will be handsome? Perhaps he will be mysterious? One can only hope!

 

Our last guest, if he may be called, was a repulsive man. Round, red cheeked and brash. The sight of him at our family table, clutching his fork like a child – spewing bits of his meal as he spoke – lord, give me strength! He kissed my hand as he left, as if to apologize for his nature, I shudder at the memory. My mother tisked, I should only hope to wed such an entrepreneur she said. He would ensure a comfortable life. Isn’t that what it is all about? Isn’t that all there is to hope for? 

Comfortable.

How I wish papa were still well, that our family was whole. Mama is surely stressed, there is simply too much to do! Three girls, ready to be wed – how can she help us to find suitable husbands if she is constantly fighting to make ends meet? 

 

I hummed to myself, dreaming of wintery scenes, what a delight it would be to travel back! The gentle tin, tin, tin of carriages carting families through the snow – parties, oh how I love parties! Feasts, song and good company. Papa would delight in song, he would call for carols and lied, which my sisters and I lovingly chortled for family and friends. Alyosia, he’d say, one day you will be a great star of the stage!

 

It could have been my daydreaming, or perhaps it was real – there, as I lay, I began to hear the faint sounds of carriages. The rhythmic jingles, at first sounding distant, they began to grow louder. I sat up and squinted through the lace curtains. 

There! 

A carriage coming up the lane!

Alyosia! mama called, her voice faint through the floor boards

Girls – dress quickly, our guest is arriving!


	2. A Boy

Chapter 2

 

A boy

 

Wolfgang! Papa exclaimed with a large grin as the door opened. 

Papa stood, beaming in the doorway as the boy struggled with his luggage. 

 

He was alone? Where was his father? I wondered silently. What a fantastic man my uncle. Educated, modest and talented. Uncle Leopold was a respected man, a scholar and had even published a book. A far cry from my quaint upbringing in this rooming lodge. How I envied the Mozarts, their own father at the helm of their musical tutelage, what a gift. What one could accomplish with such an experience. And cousin Nannerl, such a darling girl – and a talented pianist herself, what a shame to live under the shadows of the trained pet.

 

I have not laid eyes on you since you were a young boy, how you have grown! And your beautiful mother, I hope she is well? Papa clapped him roughly on the back as he entered into the foyer.

The boy blushed, his lashes fluttering downwards – how feminine, un jeune homme I thought to myself. He struggled with some bags, a case perhaps? A violinist – of course. Coming to Mannheim to make his fortune…I suppose the tokens he had collected across Europe as a small child had finally dried up. His father had clearly sent him out to find his own way.

 

Yes sir, she sends her best wishes of course. He gently deposited the violin on the floor and smoothed out the edges of his jacket preparing to shake hands, though Papa seemed to dismiss the cue.

 

I truly appreciate this offer sir, he continued, I am forever in your debt to allow me to stay with your family while I search for opportunities here in town.

 

Never mind the formalities child, come, come! Meet my darling daughters, as I am sure they look quite different than the last time you were here! Papa laughed, Constanze and I shared a brief glance. Being the eldest, I was first. Papa nudged me gently.

Our new guest stepped close enough for me to see his impish little grin, and his unwashed, tussled hair. 

When I extended my hand, we were scantly eye to eye – Herr Mozart, I knelt gently, welcome.

 

This, my child, is Alyosia – the eldest. Papa grinned, obviously taking much joy in this awkward reintroduction.

 

I felt his hand take mine. Soft and slender – like a woman. Cool to the touch. How odd I thought. As I lifted my gaze, our eyes met. My breath ceased, I was seemingly frozen by his gaze. The blue orbs were mesmerizingly deep, an ocean of soul. What did I see there? A flash of sadness ? He quickly pulled away and turned to my papa for the next introduction.

Constanze, Josepha and of course – young miss Sophie. Papa introduced each of my sisters.

He smiled sweetly, taking each hand Enchante 

He was young. He was thin. A sickly child, turned man. Hardly any different than the young boy who visited many years ago, playing little tunes on our keyboard while his father proudly boasted about his outlandish talents. 

 

Talent! So much talent that here he is, struggling to find a place for himself – out from under the watchful eye of his father. He won’t last, I’m sure of it. Perhaps a small rural town such as Salzburg could be wooed by his musical stunts, but an artistic mecca such as Mannheim, surely this city has seen true artists  
If the letters from uncle are true, then the young Mozart has come to find work as a composer – though it won’t be as easy as that. 

 

Talent is nothing in a sea of gods.


	3. Equal to any songbird

Chapter 3

 

Dinner was boisterous, Papa telling his stories – gesturing with his hands as Mama blushed and giggled. Our guest was laughing right along with them, all shyness lost.

 

Having settled in to his room not long after introductions, Herr Mozart had returned downstairs for dinner dressed to impress, Constanze raised an eyebrow from across the table.  
In his deep red coat and fresh shirt, he gave the air of a sophisticated young aristocrat. Salzburg may be a small town, but Herr Mozart was adorned in the latest fashions from Paris. 

 

Royal red velvet and delicately stitched gold trim, I’m certain his fine coat was no cast off. Likely a gift from an heiress, a baroness or some wealthy patron who couldn’t resist clothing the poor child. I felt a mild ting of jealousy, if only my voice could bring me such luxuries. Performing private concerts, being adored by patrons and sponsors alike, like a greedy song bird I would collect every gift and relish the accolade. Surely I would find a suitor, parading around in the finest gowns one could wear. 

 

Self consciously I fingered the lace of my own skirt under the table.

As if reading my thoughts, Herr Mozart turned to me

Do you still sing Frauline ? 

 

He remembers that? He must have read it in Papa’s letters to Salzburg for we were only children when we met last.

On occasion Herr Mozart, I answered, we all sing.

 

He a small smile crept across his lips, calculating, I should like to hear you, he paused, hear you all!

 

Nonsense! Papa exclaimed, The girls will gladly sing for you, of course – if you will grace us with a tune of your own.

 

I would be delighted Herr Weber, Mozart grinned and drummed his fingers on the table, I would be delighted!

 

*******

 

At our keyboard, he sat gently pressing keys – thirds, octaves, a few simple chords. Turning his head ever so slightly, listening, closing his eyes as the strings rang out. He was assessing the intonation, I knew, he was learning the imperfections.

 

Ladies, do you have a favourite hymn? Mozart asked, gently playing a non descript melody with one finger. My sisters and I exchange glances with questioning eyebrows. I never liked hymns, I thought to myself. I always felt my voice was best suited for opera.

 

He began to play excerpts from popular tunes, raising his eyebrows in question as he smoothly modulated from one song to the next. All the while we did not answer, he began to ornament – decorating and performing variations, to the point that the piece took on a whole new life. Everything from memory, without hesitation. 

 

Papa laughed heartily, slapping his knee, Oh Wolfgang you play games with my daughters! Pick one, Aloysia – he can play them all. He can play anything.

 

Anything ? I challenged

 

Je pense que oui his eyes twinkled, clearly his competitive side was awakened. He cracked his fingers, and cleared his throat - nodding to me as signal that he was ready for whatever melody I may choose.

 

He sat silently, waiting for my cue – hands poised over the keyboard.

 

Tristes apprets, I sang sweetly, almost inaudibly above the din of the room  
pales flambeaux…. I continued, louder still – shaping the legato phrase

 

Mozart, breathing in with me, began to accompany, mimicking my sensitivity

Jours plus affreux que les tenebres.  
Astres lugubres des tombeaux.....

 

I was vaguely aware as I continued to sing that the accompaniment had died away, perhaps he did not know the chordal structure, the progression or tune of the last few bars – I felt musical triumph as I breathed low and gently sculpted the final phrase.

 

Non,je ne verrais plus que vos clartes funebres

 

As I resolved the final pitch Herr Mozart sighed softly, staring at the keys in front of him.   
Herr Mozart, are you not familiar with that aria? I turned to him, rather coy.

 

He sat quietly  
Of course Frauline

 

Our eyes met, Your As are sharp. 

He paused before continuing, and your diction is not quite clear enough for the Rameau, perhaps a nice German tune instead?

 

I stood at the edge of the piano, brows furrowed – furious! How dare he? 

He began to squirm under my wicked gaze, sensing my displeasure he added – Or, perhaps we just skip to desert? He giggled awkwardly.


	4. The Fashionable One

Chapter 4

 

The next morning was fair.

Cooler winds had come through the night and dawn was fresh and bright. Finally a break from the oppressive heat - the curtains ruffled gently in the breeze and I breathed in the sweet smell of summer that wafted from the open window. Papa and Wolfgang had stayed up late into the evening, discussing the latest news from Salzburg. Sharing views on art, politics and the most recently premiered operas in the city. Papa adored him, even after he had humiliated me for my choice of song. Of course, Papa did not see it that way

 

Aloysia my dear, please calm yourself. Wolfgang has a very sensitive ear and is merely sharing his gift. You would not want undue flattery? He did not mean to insult your beautiful voice, in fact I think he quite liked your performance! He was simply offering a critique. You could learn something from him perhaps? We should enquire about lessons while he is staying with us.

 

Oh papa – really! I hissed, even if it was a matter of life and death I would not lock myself in a room with that man I thought to myself.

 

Please forgive me Frauline, I did not intend to insult you. Mozart stepped forward in to the parlour, having overheard the exchange with Papa. 

 

I felt the heat rushing to my cheeks, wishing I could simply disappear. 

 

Mozart sputtered sheepishly, Sometimes I speak before I think – I really did enjoy your choice of song. French or not – you have a lovely voice. Comparable to any diva on stage today!

 

There! You see my dear? He loved it! Papa chuckled, taking up his reading again.

 

After replaying that scene over several times in my mind, I finally closed my eyes, feeling content to lie in bed all day. Perhaps this way, I could avoid all future encounters with Herr Mozart. This truly seemed like an excellent plan.

 

Until I heard it. 

 

The eerie groan of fiddle strings being slackened, tightened, coaxed into harmony with one another. Then, fingers - whizzing up and down.

Scales.  
Arpeggios.  
Scales.  
More scales. 

 

Please no! I whispered to under my breath. 

 

Louder.  
Faster.

 

Sighing I sat up, pressing my palm to my temple. Good morning to you too, I said with a groan.

The scales skipped a few beats, then continued.  
I resigned myself to wash and dress. Clearly this was not going to end.

 

*******

 

Downstairs the dining room was buzzing with activity, my sisters and Papa already seated as Mama fluttered about, bringing dishes to the table. 

 

Aloysia – you are late this morning Mama scolded

 

Our lovely songbird has graced us this morning! My dear, you look absolutely stunning today, Papa ignored the scolding

 

I apologize Mama, I whispered - kissing Papa’s cheek before sitting at his side. 

I had a bit of a headache from all the noise this morning.

 

In truth, the extra time this morning was spent dressing in an appropriate gown. Comparable to any diva on stage, Herr Mozart? I said to myself as I searched through my finest ensembles, then I shall dress like one.

 

Lace, or silk ? Velvet ? 

 

Papa had ensured that I had many lovely gowns to choose from, despite our modest means. He loved his daughters dearly and would provide the finest materials, shoes and toys. He adored lavishing us beyond his quickly diminishing fortune. Papa would never allow us to go without – keeping up appearances was of highest importance, he was a man of great pride.

 

Carefully powdering, outlining my lips, darkening my lashes. I stared into the mirror before me, was I as beautiful as Papa claimed? What would my husband look like? Would he appreciate my features? 

 

Herr Mozart’s lashes are far more beautiful than my own. What I wouldn’t give for their feathery soft length, a beautiful frame for his deep blue eyes.  
I pushed the thought from my mind as I tightly laced my corset, a woman’s shape is her beauty, Mama would always say. I could dress as well as any diva or songstress. You are not the only fashionable one Herr Mozart.

 

Shortly after I settled at the breakfast table, Mozart swept in smiling. Good morning! 

He looked as if he was dining with the Emperor – in a beautiful pale silk waistcoat with gold filigree, large gold buttons with ornate engravings and a well pressed shirt. A wig in his natural blonde, neatly tied back at the nape of his neck with a dark ribbon. I dare say, almost handsome. 

Wolfgang – good morning, I hope you slept well Papa said, barely finishing his last mouthful. 

Yes sir, absolutely 

Mozart stood behind the empty chair to my side, fingering the carvings along the top. He looked down at me and said softly, I apologize for the noise

 

I did not respond, colour rushing to my cheeks, I continued to avoid his gaze, instead staring straight ahead to my sister who giggled. Suddenly my plate became very interesting. His comment was no mistake, and it was at this point that I realized just how thin the walls of this old home must be. I prayed that he had not heard more. Pulling the chair out from the table, he slid in beside me. Close enough that I could see the faint shadows beginning along his jaw, and smell the sweet scent of lavender powder.

 

Turning towards me, he cleared his throat, So my dear, when would you like to begin? 

 

I narrowed my brows, what was he talking about? Sensing my confusion, his eyes darted to Papa, then back to me. Then back to Papa. 

 

Herr Weber? There was silence, I don’t suppose you discussed the lessons with Alyosia?

 

Lessons? I choked

 

Papa grinned, Yes! Yes! Aloysia dear, while Wolfgang is staying with us, he will tutor you on keyboard. You will begin today.

 

Papa I really don’t - 

 

Yes. He barked sternly, making Mozart jump. 

Papa soften and continued, Today, they being today. Thank you Wolfgang, she will be ready for you at 10 o’clock.

 

Mozart slowly turned to me with a sheepish smile and he was met with a furious scowl. Wide-eyed, he froze, and then giggled awkwardly. So much so that Papa soon followed suit, and within minutes all of the table was giggling hysterically. 

 

All but me.


	5. Chapter 5 - A Lesson in C

Chapter 5 - A Lesson in C

 

It was mid morning and Mozart was already at the keyboard, playing music that he had found on the library shelf. Old melodies of Bach, Handel and Gluck. We were fortunate to have many lovely pieces in our home, among my Papa’s favourite pastimes was collecting. He was always buying, trading and searching for new pieces to have on our shelves. Music for us to sing and celebrate. 

All of his daughters were accomplished singers, having brought ourselves to this point with little instruction. We had a natural gift for song, my own voice the most melodious of the family. I often attended productions in town and I would close my eyes, ignoring the beautiful backdrops and scene changes – simply absorbing the voices on stage. Noticing the small nuances, hoping to copy their trained skill in my own singing, I would listen intently. 

The Weber family socials were famous throughout the village, our music making brought joy to our friends and family. In my own write, I had reasonable accolade and had been encouraged by many of our town musicians to pursue a career on stage. I would be lying if I said I hadn’t considered it. 

I stood just outside the door of the room, listening to him practice. He played beautifully, as if the keys were an extension of his own spirit. More than technical skill, there was art to his song. I waited, listening to him work. Perhaps he will forget about Papa’s arrangement, and I will avoid this situation entirely! What do I need from keyboard lessons? I’m sure Papa had arranged this just for my own torture. 

 

Frauline Weber, you may come in. He called from his seat at the keyboard.

Curse! He knew I was here, there was no chance of avoidance now. I froze in place, should I go in? Suddenly, he appeared next to me, extending his hand in gentle gesture.

Miss ? Are you ready to begin ? Raising his eyebrows expectantly

Yes – let us begin. Picking up the hem of my skirt, I walked past his hand into the parlour, leaving him standing just outside the door, baffled.

 

Alright. He quickly followed suit, Please have a seat. He said pulling the bench out for me. I obliged, sitting with the heavy fabric of my gown cascading over the edges of the seat, ensuring that there was indeed no chance he could come near.

 

You look lovely this morning, you did not have to dress formally for this occasion. He grinned cheekily. 

 

I wouldn’t presume Herr Mozart. I replied, causing him to frown slightly. He was disappointed I was not a willing participant in his flirtatious games.  
Regardless, he smiled again, I appreciate your taste in fashion. Let’s begin with some scales, shall we?

 

My cheeks betrayed me as I felt colour rushing to the surface after his compliment. Quietly I placed my hands on the key s and began with C major. As time continued, we delved into repertoire. Despite his childish nature, he spoke professionally about my playing, offering corrections when due. I do hate to admit, he was a fine teacher.

 

Frauline, may I show you? Reaching over my hands, he played the melody of a short passage, to demonstrate the rhythm. Do you hear the difference in duration? Play it for me again from bar 9. I complied, he shook his head as I attempted the same passage again. Making the same error as before.

 

No – please, let me show you again. Listen carefully. He played once again, emphasizing the triplet

 

I sighed frustrated, I believe I played it just as you demonstrated Herr Mozart.

 

Without hesitation – or warning - he slide his right hand under my own. I was startled by this and I began to protest – Herr Mozart I…  
Just allow your hand to follow my own, feel the pattern as I play. He slowly began to repeat from bar 9, the triplet rhythm, allowing my fingers to follow his movements, his fingers dancing underneath my own.

Do you see? He said as he continued to play, though I had stopped listening. I felt my own pulse in my throat. I swallowed hard, trying to rid myself of that uncomfortable thump, thump, thump. I felt his body leaning over mine, the linen of his collar grazing my neck as he reached around to add the left hand, completing the harmony. It was beautiful. Hypnotic. The melody began pouring out from the instrument as I remained stunned by his precision, his phrasing, his closeness. As the final cadence resolved, he paused. Hovering above the keys he chuckled – the rumble in his chest sending vibrations down my spine. I shifted forward to escape the contact.

 

A lovely piece, don’t you think ? He pulled away, righting himself as he stood tall, smoothing out his waistcoat.

I blinked, staring emptily at the score in front of me. I felt warm, my cheeks reddening once again, I lowered my eyes, choosing instead to focus on my hands as I folded them on my skirt. A few moments of silence passed between when he finally spoke, So shall we stop here for today?

 

I nodded slowly, not lifting my gaze from my hands. It felt as if I was voiceless, I could not speak – my chest felt tight and my insides churned, making me feel ill. What was this spell? He seemed unaffected – or perhaps he was simply better at masking his symptoms. 

 

Oh and Frauline, I do wish you would call me Wolfgang.

 

I stood slowly, turning to face him as he organized a stack of manuscripts on the side table. Clearly he was already working on something, a symphony, or an opera?  
Holding his stack of papers, he stepped closer, May I call you Aloysia?

Unable to answer I simple nodded slowly, sliding out from behind the bench. 

 

Thank you. I managed to squeak out softly as I quickly left the parlour – unable to remain in his proximity any longer.

 

I’ll see you tomorrow? He called after me, but I did not answer.


	6. Chapter 6 - Garden Trail

Chapter 6

 

Later that evening, I sat in the garden. An old birch tree hung grandly above Mama’s flower garden. It proudly featured our childhood swing – which Papa had crafted out of pine and an old fisherman’s rope he had acquired on one of his many trades. We would spend hours out here, squealing with delight as we pushed one another and chased each other around the yard until we fell down dizzy from exhaustion. Long ago were those days. Before the rules, before the heels, corsets and wigs. Sometimes I lust for that freedom once again.

Sitting on the old wooden swing, I watched the silhouettes inside the kitchen through the open window. Dimly lit, they bustled back and forth – clearing the tables, washing up the china. I could faintly make out the features of Mama, over seeing my sisters as they prepared the tea for desert. Every evening, Papa would sit in the parlour and read from his many books. My sisters and I would practice piano or sing, Mama would scurry about – fetching, cleaning, and feeding. There was always something to be done. On occasion, she would sit and listen to one of our songs. Hymns were her favourite. 

 

I slowly dangled my feet as the swing creaked gently back and forth – allowing my bare toes to slide through the dewy grass. This was always my favourite time of day, after sunset, when all is calm. Often I would sneak away to be with my thoughts, my own secret palace amongst the roses and lilies. I had freed myself from my heavy skirts and wore a simple cotton frock, hair down and shoes long since abandoned. I could breathe here, relax.

Smoke teased out of the chimney, a faint smell of burning embers hung in the air as crickets sang their tune. Looking up, the sky was darkening and the gentle light of stars was beginning to shine through the broken clouds.

 

"May I join you ?" I jumped, shaken from my daydream.

"I didn’t mean to interrupt…." Herr Mozart stepped closer, he too had abandoned his fineries. I could now see his true strawberry hair, even in the dim light it shone several colours of red and blonde. A shade my sisters and I would be most envious of. 

"You did not interrupt Herr Mozart, I was simply thinking to myself." I adjusted the neckline of my dress, embarrassed to be seen in such a simple state.

"Please, Wolfgang – I insist." He inched closer still, "I came outside to get some air, but if I am disturbing you I will go for a walk instead. But maybe, you would like to escort me? You are familiar with these paths no?"

My cheeks flushed at the offer, though he was unlikely to see in the dim light. How I wanted to dislike this man, but I could not ignore his eyes. They were deep and full, framed by his dark and feathery lashes. I could hardly look away, though I felt nervous under his gaze. 

"Of course." I stood from the swing, "Through the garden gate there is a path that leads to a stream if we head this way."

He gestured his hand forward, silently suggesting I lead on. Barefoot, I tip toed through the grass, looking back over my shoulder to the kitchen window. 

"We will make it a quick trip, so Papa does not worry." He agreed with a nod of his head, beginning to follow me.

 

Once out of the yard and in to a small forested path, I smiled to myself. Freedom. I occasionally looked back to ensure my traveller was not falling behind. He kept good pace, though he had the advantage of shoes. I had picked through this trail many times before, and was confident even in darkness to lead him to the small stream near our home. It was a popular summer resting place, often the children from the village would come to swim in an attempt to escape the heat of the high season.

I paused before a steep rock pile, assessing a way to climb to the top – "Is this where the trail ends?" He called to me as he finally reached the base of the stone wall.

"No." I grinned, "This is the fun part!"

Hiking up the skirt of my dress, I pulled myself up to the top of the stones without much effort. 

"Come on Wolfgang – it’s an easy climb! " I looked down at him triumphantly from the top of the tallest boulder. He paused, unsure of going forward. Unlikely that in his sheltered childhood had he ever had the freedom to explore nature, as I had. Constantly on parade, meeting nobility, performing in grand homes and palaces. Not much of a childhood if you ask me. Crouching near the edge of the stones I extended my hands down to him,

"Come on! I’ll help pull you up!" 

I grinned as he grasped my hands and began to clamber up the steep footing. Small rocks tumbled down as he slipped his way up to the peak. Straining against his weight, I leaned back to leverage as much as I could. 

"If you drop me Frauline….." He laughed through his struggles, half silly – half threatening.

 

"I – won’t – drop –" I grunted each word through my teeth, pulling him over in one final tug "– you!"

The inertia of the final pull had knocked me flat on my back, Mozart having toppled over with me. Panting, he smiled down at me, chest to chest. His weight was slowly crushing me, but I couldn’t make myself care. My body tingled from head to toe, my breathing ceased. In this moment, I realized, he was beautiful. His breathing slowed to normal and his smile faded as he realized my concentration. 

"Frauline ?"

"Aloysia." I whispered, breathlessly

His eyes darted back and forth, unsure of how to respond – I felt an ache in my stomach, deep inside. Whatever it was, I had a carnal desire for it, an urge like I had never experienced.

"Aloysia." He whispered back softly, pausing before pressing his lips to mine. 

My eyes fluttered closed as stars exploded and the heat in my body radiated forth. When the kiss broke, I turned my head, gasping for air under the crushing weight of his body. The fervent kisses continued down my neck. His hands found my sides and slid up to the front of my frock, tugging at the buttons to free my chest. Continuing his ministrations, his lips travelled further down still, nudging the top of my corset with his nose, gently trying to unhook the contraption with his slender fingers. I squirmed and arched up to his kisses, lust taking over, I was blind. Finally unclasping the top of my stays, he gently lifted my breasts to the cool night air. He kneeled, silently staring in appreciation as I lay bare chest beneath him. In this brief pause, my mind cleared and my hands flew to cover myself instinctively. 

"We are very late – " I began to sit up, scrambling upright, feeling around in the dark for my blouse.

"No no no…ssh – wait" He soothed, gently grabbing my wrists 

"Please?" He whispered in my ear, backing me slowly down again, hovering above me, pressing me down onto the stone with his body. I did not respond, I felt anxious, what if someone sees us? What if Papa is looking for us right now? I thought silently.

I locked eyes with him as he kissed my collarbone, then down to my breast. The soft white skin prickling up in the cold, he grinned between kisses. 

"You are beautiful – I knew from the moment I saw you." Thumbing over the pink nubs, I groaned and thrashed, he shushed me gently, sitting up on his heels again. Breaking our bodies apart. Edging up on my elbows panting, I took this moment to catch my breath. He was kneeling between my thighs, tangled in my skirts, the buttons of his blouse hanging open to expose his smooth chest and a faint trail of hairs just above the waist of his trousers. Daringly I pressed my fingertips to his skin, tracing gently downwards. When I reached below his waist he closed his eyes and stopped my hand.

"You don’t know what you want my dear. If we start that, I won’t be able to stop myself." He groaned.

"What do you mean?" Genuinely confused, how could anyone want to stop this?

He sighed, kissing me chastely and buttoning his shirt, "That topic is not my place to educate you about, we should get back now, before it becomes too dark."

I watched, shocked in silence as he righted himself and began to climb down the rocks, leaving me wantonly exposed and aching. I hurriedly buttoned my corset and frock, climbing down to meet him on lower ground. Speaking no further of our spontaneous passions, he stated calmly 

"You should lead the way, I am no good with directions."

 

We walked in silence back to the gate of the garden, only the sound of the forest floor crunching under our feet and the occasionally chirp of crickets nearby. Thoughts whirred through my head, trying to make sense of our encounter. Replaying the images in my mind, his body, his kisses – it made my stomach flutter just reminiscing about it.  
I opened the latch as we reached the gate to the garden.

"Goodnight Frauline" He said softly, placing his hand over mine as he passed through the gate and in to the yard.

I stood at the entrance, watching as he walked quietly back to the house, breathlessly hoping for him to look back one last time.

"Lesson at 9 tomorrow morning ?" He asked without turning back

 

I swallowed, thinking of what to say. I could hear him laugh before entering the house, 

 

"Alright Frauline, we shall make it 10, but only for your sake."

 

And with that, he was gone.


	7. Chapter 7 - An Invitation

Chapter 7 – An Invitation

 

 

The next day, Mozart had been commissioned to perform a piano sonata at the Mannheim garden festival, annually hosted at the country estate of Herr Heinbrich. The Heinbrich estate was a sprawling masterpiece on acres of manicured land, boasting immaculate rose gardens and intricate stone work. It was home to Mannheim’s wealthiest family, who were also members of the royal court. 

 

Herr Heinbrich was a master horseman and adored hosting lavish parties as well as being a committed patron of the arts. It was not unfamiliar to hear the sounds of string quartets wafting through his gardens in summertime, or to hear stories of illustrious sopranos being hosted at his home during their whirlwind tours through Europe.  
Papa was determined that the entire Weber would be attendance at Mozart’s performance, to show our support of course! Needless to say, we all knew Papa welcomed the opportunity to rub shoulders with the Mannheim elite. After all, introducing himself as family of the prodigious young Mozart was surely an excellent way to insert oneself into almost any social circle.

 

“Constanze, Sophie – quickly, we do not want to be late.”

 

My sisters and I had all inherited Papa’s extravagant taste in fashion, food and lifestyle. Each of us had meticulously coiffed ourselves, styling our wigs with upmost detail. Beauty took time, and punctuality was not a trait the Weber daughters employed. Constanze was sure to steal the show with a beautiful pale gown, tightly fitted around her slender waist and amply displaying her, enviously ample bosom. Even young Sophie was fit for court in a darling rose dress, complete with bows and lace. A charming girl, surely she will have her choice of fine suitors in a few short years.

 

Finishing last, when I finally reached the yard, Papa was busily loading the carriage with the help of our driver, hired just for this occasion, of course. The horse master sat perched above the cabin, shaking his head at the sight – Papa was trying to fit all of the ladies, and their miles of fabrics, into a single carriage.

"Now ladies, we will just have to make this work, somehow –" Papa grunted as he attempted to compact the billowing skirts in an effort to make more space.

The carriage master whistled loudly, nodding his head downwards to Papa, “Excuse me sir, but I’m going to have to come back for these two.” He nodded towards me.

Confused by the plural descriptor, I turned to see Wolfgang exiting the house, closing the door with a loud thud behind him. Streams of papers were sent flying – some escaping his grasp and others sent fluttering on to the lawn. He quickly scrambled to grab them, shoving them unceremoniously back into his leather folio. Frantically, he smoothed his wig, a laughable attempt to right its dishevelled appearance, and then strode over to the carriage. 

 

“Sorry sir, we won’t be long – a quarter of an hour at most” The driver tipped his hat to us and snapped the reins. I looked at Wolfgang apologetically as the horses began to trot out – my sisters waving to me as they jingled past, leaving the two of us to wait.“We will arrive in plenty of time” I encouraged.

 

“No matter, they can’t start the party without me” He stated rather arrogantly. 

 

He began to rummage through his papers, trying to create some semblance of order. I could see that they were manuscripts for piano – likely what he would be premiering this afternoon. Grumbling to himself he sat on a large stone and began to prepare ink. “I believe the carriage will be back soon” I called over to him, but he did not answer.   
He was already busy writing, furiously scratching – humming – scratching. What a ridiculous time to start composing, the carriage would be back any minute! I stood silently watching him as he worked, it’s as if he was in a different world. Occasionally he would stop. He would begin flipping aggressively through his papers, looking for something – checking, comparing and then finally continuing to scratch away. As the carriage returned I walked slowly to where he sat – all the while, he remained head down, buried in the music. 

 

“Wolfgang?” I called to him as the horses were halted, the carriage groom stepped down to open the doors.

“Wolfgang!” 

 

He jumped and looked up at me, eyes wild. It was startling to see him in such a state. I stepped back, worried. It was as if he was not in his right mind. Blinking, he looked over at the carriage and quickly leapt to his feet, “Finished just in time” He grinned, shoving his writing tools back into his folio. He pushed the still wet manuscript into my hands, “Here, hold this – it’s not yet dry.”

He handed off his small bag to the carriage groom and tossed his manuscripts in to the carriage, then, jogging back to me with a boyish grin from ear to ear. “Come! We don’t want to be late!” Taking my hand, half pulling me to the carriage he stopped at the entrance to assist me up the small step.  
I looked at him, eyebrows raised – what was I to do with this manuscript? He read my confusion

“Oh yes! I’ll take that – thank you.” Nearly ripping it from my hand he carelessly tossed in on top of the bench along with the other manuscripts. “Now up up up – time to go.” He hurried me in, following quickly behind and snapping the door shut. As the horses began to pull away, I took a moment to appreciate the interior of the carriage. How rarely I had travelled, and never in private coach, this was a most exciting experience. Padded in beautiful cream and gold brocade, it was something fit for nobility. It was elegantly appointed with sconces for evening travel, and drapes for privacy while en route. My face must have shown my awe as Mozart smiled, sitting opposite from me,

 

“I guess you haven’t been trapped inside one of these for months on end? Trust me, the novelty wears thin.” He turned back to his manuscripts – now ordering them, title first, then second page – now third…

 

“Is that the concerto for this afternoon?” 

“Yes – I’m so glad I had a minute to complete it, small miracles that the carriage was forced to make a second trip.” He said without looking up from his mess, continuing to shuffle the papers round and round.

 

“Incomplete? It was incomplete and you are to perform it this afternoon? What would you have done had you not finished it?” 

 

Giving the papers one last tap to align them – he slid them neatly into the folio, tying the laces to keep them in place for the remainder of the journey. Looking up at me he giggled, “I would have improvised.”

 

Improvise In front of a crowd of nobility – at a gala? Rather bold. Most especially since he had been contracted to this event for months, he had plenty of time to complete the work before this very moment. Not the most keen sense of work ethic, and a gambler at that. He drew the curtains, darkening the cabin of the carriage. I raised an eyebrow suspiciously. He swiftly moved to join me on my bench, “I always work best under pressure” he grinned devilishly, taking hold of my hand and toying with the lace on the cuff of my gown. That familiar feeling quickly beginning to grow in the pit of my stomach.

 

“I am sorry I did not mention earlier, as I was so absorbed in my work, but you look absolutely stunning today Frau Weber. You’re truly the embodiment of beauty.” He whispered, nearing my ear, grazing gently against it with his lips, allowing the jostle of the carriage to seal the contact. Immediate shivers ran through my spin, causing my hairs to stand on end. 

 

“I hope that our walk through the woods, being so late in the evening, did not give you a fright.” He continued, beginning to leave small kisses down my neck and to my collar bone. My head fell back as my eyes closed heavily. My mouth was agape as he gently nipped at the base of my throat, coaxing a soft moan from my lips. He paused, and chuckled, “I am so glad I am forgiven” 

 

Opening my eyes, I pushed against his grip, shoving him away. He frowned, looking saddened at the loss of contact. I eyed him closely, handsome, despite the pout, in his burgundy coat, gold buttons and high, velvet collar. Spreading my hands across the breast of his jacket I curled my fists around the lapel and shoved him roughly against the wall of the carriage kissing him aggressively. 

 

He raised his hands at his sides in truce as I devoured his mouth. I did not know what I wanted but this seemed a good start. I edged closer, refusing to come up for air, pressing my chest to his – holding his lips to my greedy mouth. Suddenly, my eyes flew open when I felt it – his tongue. His tongue exploring my mouth, at first gentle, then becoming more possessive as it thrusted about, dancing with my own. Pulling away gasping, he looked at me with surprise. Pushing back from him, I shyly averted my eyes from his gaze, smoothing out my skirt and patting my coiffure to ensure its curls were still in place.   
We sat breathing heavily, wordless, as the carriage continued to rock back and forth.

 

Then suddenly – it stopped.

“Herr Mozart – pardon the delay, we must switch horses due to an injury in the foot. We shouldn’t be more than half an hour.” The muffled voice of the carriage driver called. 

Wolfgang opened the door – poking his head out, “What was that?”

 

“We cannot continue until we replace this horse Herr Mozart, the groom will stay with the carriage while I walk this mare in to town. It isn’t far – half an hour sir.” 

 

He slowly closed the door and turned to me, “This will be quite the story! I’m glad you are with me, for they would never believe me if I were on my own”

 

“Will they be furious?” I swallowed nervously, he shrugged, “There is not much we can do – so we wait.” He leaned against the wall of the cabin, closing his eyes and exhaling heavily. I watched him in repose, his soft, childlike features accented by the slight rouge in his cheeks, a hint of our earlier transgressions. My stomach twitched. 

 

Feeling daring, my fingers walked across the cushion to the button on his breeches at the side of his knee. I began tracing the seam up to his hip with my index finger. He looked at me under heavy lids, “Frauline Weber, what exactly do you think you are doing? Inciting such indecent behaviours….” He muttered as I slide to press up against his side. I blushed as I continued to trace gentle patterns on his thighs, running my fingerings across the silken fabric, he groaned. His body starting to squirm under my hands. 

 

“You are persistent my dear” He groaned again as I ran my hand up his thigh, feeling something rather peculiar as I did so. He grabbed my hand – moving it over to that very spot. Firm, almost rigid, he pushed my hand against the hardness, moaning with satisfaction as he did so. He continued to guide my hand, repeatedly stroking, closing his eyes. He released my hand, allowing me to continue on my own. He gripped the edge of the bench firmly as I stroked. “Oh lord, stop.” He said through gritted teeth – I stopped, worried I had hurt him. 

 

“Are you alright?” I asked, frightened

 

He nodded silently, brushing my hand aside. He began to unfasten his breeches and suddenly I became afraid of what would come next. “Oh no – Wolfgang, I don’t think that we should – “ He interrupted me by pressing his lips to mine, 

“Nothing to fear, I promise you.” He panted as he broke the kiss. He took my hand in his, sliding it under the waist of his trousers, against his skin. He wrapped my fingers around the firmness and began to guide me, sliding up and down gently. There was a damp film, slickening my hand – sweat ? I could not be sure. He released my hand, undoing the final button and sliding his trousers down past his hips to expose my hand and the firmness in its grasp. “Oh!” I gasped, realizing what I was holding. 

Before I could protest his hand was back, guiding my own – with increasing pace. He began to grunt and whimper, liquid weeping from the tip, glistening as it rolled down on to my fingers. “Faster” He demanded as he let my hand be free to do as instructed. As I quickened, his breath shortened, coming only in short bursts until he froze, warm liquid shooting from him as it pulsed in my hand. He slackened with a heavy sigh, leaning back with a dazed smile. 

I released him, looking curiously at the substance on my fingers. “Don’t worry Frauline, it’s harmless” He handed me a handkerchief as he fastened his trousers, quickly fixing his shirt and jacket. 

 

“Herr Mozart” A man’s voice called from outside the cabin, “We are ready to continue ” 

With a crack of reins, the carriage jerked to a start – “We will try to make up for lost time!” the voice yelled over the jangling of horses in harness, trotting quickly down the gravel lane. 

He sighed with a smile, “I think we made the best of a rather harrowing experience, wouldn’t you say?”

I fidgeted nervously, trying to think of something to say – forcing a gentle laugh when no words came. Peaking out the curtain, “Just up the hill, we are almost there,” he said, taking my hand gently, “How do you feel about garden parties?” he squeezed, gently.

Clearing my throat, “I have yet to attend one.” His smile fell in surprise, “Really?” 

A moment of awkward silence passed between us as the carriage stopped, the groom opening the door and offering his hand for me to step down.

 

“All sorts of first today my darling.” He grinned, stepping out after me – and taking my hand, leading me through the gates, into the crowd where he was immediately swarmed by interested patrons.


	8. Chapter 8 - Great Artist

Chapter 8 - Great Artist

 

By mid afternoon the sun was blazing, baking the party goers into their costumes. Hiding under a fine parasol I sat amongst my sisters – watching our boarding guest, in utter amazement. Transformed from common boy to great artist simply with a touch of the keys, at his instrument Mozart was surrounded by nobility, great ladies with their hair styled high, their noble men possessively holding their fair hands. Deeply engrossed in his music, he teased gentle phrases from the forte piano – a new invention, with which he had never played. It came alive under his hands, singing beautifully. His skill was beyond anything he had demonstrated as a child, honed to near perfection. I stirred watching him perform, listening with bated breath.

The instrument maker boasted upon Wolfgang’s initial inspection, “This instrument will respond to the most subtle of touch, the palette of dynamic contrast had never been this vast! I’m certain you will be the first to order one of these fine instruments Herr Mozart. What composers could work with those creaky relics found in dusty old country homes, eh?”

“Yes….perhaps.” Mozart laughed awkwardly, scratching under his silken wig, eyeing the new instrument distrustfully. The most beautiful of this afternoon’s songs – having been spun on creaky relic, in just such a home, merely a few short hours before. 

Before the final notes had risen from the gilded soundboard – the audience leapt to its feet, delighted with Mozart’s latest work. He stood – pushing back from the bench and turning to bow, grinning, receiving his praise as he was so accustomed. A crowd quickly gathered around him as my sisters tugged my hand,

“Aloysia! Come on!” Constanze pulled me, “Now’s our chance to tour the garden!”

I sighed, looking to her as I lost sight of Wolfgang in the crowd. “Yes – let’s walk.”

We walked, arms linked, Stanzi chatting about the roses, lilies and other flowers that bloomed. Everything was meticulously tended, a labour of love, a masterpiece in its own right. She eagerly quizzed me about the carriage ride with Herr Mozart, hoping to romanticize the event.  
“Oh Aloysia! You are ever the lucky one! What is he truly like? Did you speak?” 

“We did, briefly.”

“Was he polite? Is he as lovely as he seems?”

“He had work to complete Stanzi – did you know that the ink was not yet dry on those manuscripts? The man can barely meet his deadlines. He is constantly scribbling, yet hardly meeting the obligations of his employers.” I patted her hand and she looked up at me with a face full of disappointment.

“But yes – yes he is lovely.” I added quietly and we both began giggling madly. 

“Ali!” Stanzi tugged my sleeve and nodded towards a distant figure, headed in our direction, “Aloysia! He’s coming over here!” She hushed in a panicked squeal.

We remained linked as Mozart reached us, grinning from ear to ear “Frau Weber” he bowed to Constanze, sweeping off his hat as he did so, “Frau Weber” he repeated the dramatic bow to me once more.

“Herr Mozart” I responded with a gentle curtsy, glancing sideways to my sister who was fighting back her giggles, chewing her bottom lip nervously.   
He stood before us in awkward silence, looking from one to the next – not sure of his timing, “I….I didn’t mean to interrupt you ladies…”

“You’re not interrupting us, Herr Mozart!” Stanzi gushed, “We were just touring the garden, everything is blooming – we couldn’t resist.” Another moment passed, he shifted from one foot to the other.

“May I join you?” He asked shyly, Stanzi’s smile broaden and she blushed, “Oh of course! That would be wonderful – wouldn’t it Aloysia?” I nodded slowly, that warm feeling starting to build again as he slipped between us, taking each of our arms in his own.  
“So ladies, what did you think of the music?” He asked, “I do hope you’ll tell me truthfully!”

We walked a few steps before I spoke, “I thought they were the most beautiful melodies ever performed.” 

“Oh I knew it! I just knew you’d like them!” He skipped a quick step in his excitement, “They are beautiful aren’t they? Stanzi, what do you think?” Constanze giggled at the abbreviation, not ever having been addressed by a man using her childhood namesake. 

“The most beautiful!” She agreed, adding coyly, “I do hope you write something so breath taking for our Aloysia – her voice would suit your music so wonderfully.”

He turned to her, releasing my arm and kneeling down, taking her hand, “My dear!” A small crowd, craned their necks to investigate the dramatic pose, “That is the most wonderful idea – you have just inspired my next work. For that, I am forever grateful.” He kissed her hand and bowed his head down to her toes in a cheeky show of grovel. 

Constanze and I exchanged glances, barely holding back our laughter. “Herr Mozart, I’m afraid you may be drawing a crowd. Perhaps you should write music for theatre.” I said in whisper, he lifted his head to see a few couples had gathered closer and he quickly jumped up, brushing off his stockings.  
“A fine idea – an excellent idea!” He resumed his place, linking his arms with ours once more, our walk quietly continued. I smiled to myself and twirled my parasol as we walked through the gardens. Stanzi happily chirping about the sights of the garden, commenting on the beautiful ladies and their dresses and Mozart was more than happy to entertain her with stories from his tours across Europe.

Upon the return, Papa had arranged all of his daughters into a single carriage – choosing to save the single trip for himself, Mama and Herr Mozart. Likely a wise choice. Papa was not a learned man, but he too had once been a young man and was not unaware of his own daughters’ beauty.

 

 

*******

 

“Oh Aloysia I can’t believe he said he would write a song for you!” Constanze sat on the bed as I undid my sash and began to untie petticoats. 

“Well Stanzi, he is a composer. It’s what they do! Do you find it unimaginable that Mama would bake bread? Or mend clothing for the boarders? It’s just his way of sustaining himself.” I said plainly, folding my gown over the dressing table. I began to step out of my shoes and roll my stockings down with great care. If I was very careful, I could wear them again before having to wash them. They always lose their bright white lustre after scrubbing, no matter how gentle I tried to be.  
“Oh! Have you no romantic side?” She sighed, falling back on the bed. She lay there, staring at the ceiling, hand on her chest, while I began to set my hair in rags for tomorrow’s curls.  
“I think he likes you” she said finally, after processing silently.  
I sighed, tying up the neat ringlets “And? So if he does – what does he offer me? What fortune does he have? We must be practical in our men Stanzi, we do not have great fortunes behind us. We need men who can support us, elevate us!”

“He will write beautiful music for you! That will elevate you Aloysia! Imagine it – you could be a great prima donna with his help, you could be an operatic star.” She said wistfully, beginning to undress, kicking her shoes across the room.  
I heard Papa’s booming voice in the entry way down the stairs. They had returned. Soon I heard quick footsteps up the stairs, with a definitive landing on the top step. A familiar creak of the floor boards as they passed our room, and the soft creak of a door being opened and then shut.  
“He’s back.” Stanzi said lowly as she slipped into her night gown, crawling under the quilts. I eyed her from the mirror, “And?” I raised my eyebrows at her reflection.

She shrugged and crawled under the covers, hiding herself completely.

 

I smiled with relief, knowing the conversation was over, at least for now.

I slipped under the covers beside my sister – pinching out the candle at our bedside. The plume of smoke and smell of wax wafted upwards as I lay with heavy eyes, waiting to drift asleep.


	9. Chapter 9

 

“No, no, no….” Mozart huffed, scratching at the base of his neck, frustrated with his lesson, “I don’t understand Herr Mozart.” The young man said, having worked on this passage for the better part of an hour. Mozart could see he was truly putting forth his best effort, but he just didn’t have a musical fibre in his being. He couldn’t bare another minute of this torturous lesson.

“I think we are done for today.”Wolfgang muttered, “I have other commitments, I’m sorry, we will continue next week.” His student understood and nodded silently, moving from the bench. It was his sixth lesson today, and the least of all talented. Since nearly dawn his ears had been taxed with study after study, unapologetically hammered out on the tired keys of the Weber harpsichord. The room at the back of the Weber household was growing dark as the sun began to fade, the dusty old space was humid despite the open window overlooking the small back garden. Wolfgang had long since abandoned the formality of his wig, tossing it on to the thread bare divan, his jacket similarly rumpled, sitting on top of a mass of manuscript.

“I will work on this piece for next week Herr Mozart, I promise I will improve – you will see.” He bumbled nervously as Mozart shuffled his piles of scores, his stacks of unfinished music seemed to be growing by the day. “Yes, yes that’s fine. Continue and we will reconvene next week.” Mozart stood by the door to the parlour, gesturing his student out. He couldn’t wait for the next hour, finally some peace and a chance to work. Once the student had gone, he leaned heavily against the doorway with a sigh. He was clearly exhausted, performing concerts, composing all night, teaching endless students – he never had a moments rest. I stood watching him, wondering if I should turn back. But my own selfish desires pushed that thought from my mind and I stepped forward.

“Do you still have time for me?” I asked softly, his eyes fluttered open in surprise, clearly startling him from his thoughts. He looked about, finally turning to see me behind him “Oh Aloysia!” he smiled broadly, “I did not realize you were standing there.”

I stepped closer, shyly, “I have come for my lesson.”He paused, raising his eyebrows in surprise, “Well…I uh…I wasn’t aware that we….” he stuttered as I continued, “Have you any time?” poking my head into the parlour to see if in fact, the last of the students had cleared. “Of course!....Absolutely!” He quickly jumped to the bench, pulling it back to make room for my skirts. “Please – come, come sit” he coaxed, patting the bench. I bit my lip nervously, blushing as I accepted the seat. He pulled a small chair close for himself, having little room on the bench with my petticoats gathered at the keys. 

“So, what piece have you prepared to play for me Frau Weber?” he asked, leaning his chin on his clasped hands, his bright eyes twinkling. He was well atuned to my girlish blush and was more than willing to play the flirtatious game, a master of witty banter and subtley salacious behaviour. Mozart was no stranger to the affections of women.

“Well, actually Herr Mozart - I had hoped that you had prepared one for me.” I smiled at him, with a flutter of lashes, my attempt to show my own prowess. He sat up, “Oh?”  
“You had mentioned perhaps a song, for soprano?” I recalled our earlier exchange in which he had promised such a rose, in a bold attempt to win my favour. He cleared his throat, “Yes well, I – I have yet to write anything my dear, I had so many lessons today that just didn’t have a quiet moment to think.” He frowned, he did not want to disappoint. Sensing his doleful tone, I decided not to press him any further on the subject.

“No matter, I am a patient woman.” I said, reaching for his hand, “Would you play duets with me in lieu? Something easy I beg of you, my keyboard skills are not as masterful as your own.” A broad smile crept across his face and wordlessly he slid next to me on the bench, neatly brushing the pleats of his coat behind him with great flare and pushing up his sleeves. “Madam” he said with a dramatically serious tone, “It would be an upmost honour, no - pleasure, to perform with her holiness.” I giggled, enjoying his closeness. His slender thighs next to my own on the small bench made me giddy, his slight frame barely meeting me shoulder to shoulder.

He played a glorious fanfare, turning to me at its musical climax – brows raised, “Ready?” he asked, hands continuing to play their invisible tune.

“There is no script to read! What am I to play?” I giggled as he banged out his nonsense fanfare with much bravado

“Anything! Playing anything – I’ll accompany you my grace.” I shrugged, plucking out a single melody – tentatively at first, to my astonishment he began to soften immediately, in an effort to accompany. He listened attentively, shaping a harmony for my simple song with seemingly no effort at all. “How do you know what I’m going to play next?” I perplexed, stopping my melody mid phrase.

“I know no more than you ,my dear” He resolved in a simple cadence, “My only mastery is of harmonic structure and of common melodic tendencies.” I frowned, confused. He paused for a moment in thought – then raised his hand to me, as if to shake hello. I drew backwards, now more confused than before! “Are you in your right mind?” I chuckled, he shook his head and laughed, raising his hand again – pushing it towards me, inviting me to clasp it. “Come on!” He begged, as I tilted my head. I slowly complied, tentatively placing my hand in his and he shook my hand vigorously with a sharp giggle.

“There! You see?” He exclaimed with excitement, I blinked, bewildered by this little man, “No Herr Mozart, I’m afraid I do not follow.”

“But that’s just it. How did you know how to respond to my gesture? You’ve mastered the action – you know the pattern.”I stared at him blankly, he continued, “It’s just like music. Patterns – structure – rules….I’ve been learning it since my shoes dangled from this bench!” He sighed, taking my hands and patting them gently “It’s second nature.”

"Second nature to you perhaps, but certainly not to mere mortals such as myself." I scoffed gently, retracting my hands. We sat in silence at the keyboard, both lost in our own thoughts. I began to pick at the fabric of my skirt, wishing he would speak again, just to break the silence. He placed a hand over my own, stopping my nervous movements. Looking up at him I smiled encouragingly, this time I let his hands hold my delicate fingers in his. I studied his hands, were they so different from my own? From Papa's? How many other ladies had felt their knowing skill?

“Frauline, I hate to turn you away as I so enjoy your company, however I should probably do some writing….” He said softly, a ting of sadness in his voice. I frowned knowing that truthfully, he had much work to do. Not ready to leave, I was not sure how to extend my stay.

“Maybe after dinner we can –“ I was silenced when he kissed me suddenly. 

I froze as his free hand cupped my cheeks, closing the distance between us. I felt warm as his hands quickly travelled to my sides, pulling me nearly on to his lap. As I allowed myself to him, he groaned, sending shivers down my spine. My chest began to heave, fighting the tension in my bodice. “Oh god, Aloysia..” He murmured, kissing my neck, moving slowly down to my chest. I blushed feeling his lips grazing the soft flesh, “Wolfgang…” I gave a breathy whisper from under heavy lids, but he persisted deafly, “Wolfgang!” I said more harshly, snapping him out of his daze. 

“Papa is home – we cannot…..” I squirmed away, adjusting my dress to cover my now bulging breast.

“Oh but –“ he protested, “No!” I stood up, definitively - hand to my chest. We stared at one another in breathy silence, he remained respectfully in his place, electing not to grab my hand and draw me back to him.

“Come to me tonight?” He begged weakly, clutching the edge of the bench as I backed towards the door, shaking my head, “Please?” he whispered hushedly

“A true gentleman would ask no such things of a lady!” I said lowly, scolding him. He frowned, hurt by my words.

“I’ll dream of you surely. I will write the most beautiful music, I promise that – you’ll have it by tomorrow. My next opera still! I will write you a leading role – my prima donna.”

I rolled my eyes, “Herr Mozart – I think you have enough to do without writing an opera for me.”

“I must. You’ve inspired it. A love story!” 

I shook my head and turned for the stairs, “Goodnight Herr Mozart!” I called over my shoulder as I climbed up to my room, feeling the tightness in my middle – longing to rush back to his side.


	10. Chapter 10

"The lessons?" Mozart squeaked. 

Papa eyed him intensely as he surgically dissected his meal, "She's a natural sir - truly!" He stammered, feeling immediately flustered by the inquiry. Papa surely sensed his nerves, and most obviously the pink rising in his cheeks. Dear Wolfgang was quick to evade his stare. Papa remained silent, watching his house guest a little longer, causing him to shift uncomfortably under his gaze "And...and, well I think, she will be able to sing in my next opera. With a few more lessons of course" Mozart added, in an effort to break the silence and end his torture under Papa's knowing eyes.

I blushed thinking of our earlier meeting in the parlour, all wild eyed and breathless. Lessons indeed! He would be strung from the highest tree if Papa knew exactly what type of learning was going on in these... lessons. That afternoon, after I had left him wanting - I had fled to my room, head spinning, trying to make sense of the situation. Was I in love ? I couldn't be sure. What was this overpowering sensation every time he came near ? Almost dizzying, I would begin to tie myself up just exchanging glances. I couldn't discuss it with anyone, for if they knew - that would be the end of him!

Papa's eyebrows shot up, Stanzi squealed tapping my thigh under the table dressing, "I told you!" She whispered gleefully.

"Opera?" Papa grunted, laying his utensils beside his meal, "I did not know you had been commissioned dear boy, congratulations!"  
Mozart chuckled sheepishly, "Yes well, I have yet to be...paid" He said bashfully, casting his eyes down.

"What was that?" Papa grunted, refilling his wine, "It's a commission, pending approval of the libretto sir." Mozart cleared his throat nervously, an Opera without payment, well, not yet any way. Papa would be skeptical, naturally. "Well I'm sure you will impress your patron with a sample of your work - featuring my beautiful daughter, no?" Papa smiled at me, touching my cheek with affection. Mozart watched me, apologizing silently for what he was about to say

 

"Yes Herr Weber, when I return from my trip - I will complete her part. And it will be magnificent I assure you."

 

I froze.

 

Trip? 

He was leaving ? 

I felt a lump form in my throat, I silently begged him to meet my eyes, but he refused. He knew, I sat silent. "Yes, an adventure for you! Aloysia isn't that exciting? A real opera roll, just for you! Perhaps you will sing on the big stage?" Papa smiled, unaware of the crushing weight in my chest. Leaving? He had said nothing of it when he was pressed against me at the keyboard - asking me to come to his chambers! How dare he ! Quickly my feelings churned from sadness to anger. Silence befell the table, nothing but clanking of cutlery to distract from the awkwardness of the moment. Finally he looked up, under heavy lashes with a frown - I scowled at him, having lost all sadness. Instead, fury began to boil, he wanted nothing more than a warm body in his bed - now his true intentions were clear. I had been had by this man, played as easily as his violin. How often had he drawn young ladies into his web in order to be so skilled in the art of seduction ? The thought repulsed me. I turned away angrily, unable to even look in his direction.

 

Mama began to clear the table and I leapt up to assist, aggressively clearing his plate before he had finished, he opened his mouth to protest but he thought better of it and remained silent, sitting on his hands like a child about to receive reprimand. "When will you be leaving for your trip?" Papa chewed carefully, mopping the jus from his meal with the last of the bread, "I have yet to confirm, though I would estimate within the week sir." I felt a knot build in my core, my breath hitching, so quickly I escaped to the kitchen fighting back fresh tears.

He jumped up as Papa pushed back from the table, "Shall we retire to the music room, eh?" Papa grinned, lumbering off down the dark hall towards the dimly lit room at the back of the house, where but a few hours earlier had been the scene of a heated romance. On the very bench where Papa had schooled his daughters in scales and arpeggios, gavottes and hymns as a young girls - the holiest and purest of musical phrases, most befitting of his virginal darlings. Now, we were lamb led astray by wolf.

As I returned to clear the last of the dishes I felt him grab my hand

"I meant to speak of it earlier" He whispered lowly to avoid mama's ears, "Is that before or after I was to visit your bed?" I hissed, pulling my hand away angrily. He stood for a moment searching for his words, "I...We..." He sputtered, "I believe Papa requested that you play for him this evening. Perhaps you can play something from this great new opera you are promising everyone? Maybe another one of the arias written for any pretty girl that bats her lashes."

 

I hated him. In that moment, I wished him ill, anything, to feel my hurt. He seemed offended by my remark, narrowing his eyes at me, but he said nothing. Instead he brushed his sleeves down and sighed before walking out with a quick click of his shoes, rhythmically tapping down the hall to join my sisters and Papa - who were already making song at the clavier.

I stood there foolishly, still seething with anger. Oh how I wanted him to be angry too, I wanted him to fight with me, argue for me to see things his way, beg me to forgive him - better, to come with him! I would be the most suitable travel companion, able to accompany him throughout Europe, premiering his works! Imagine, fame for us both - his beautiful music and my silken voice... Satisfying audiences all over, and at night, we would have each other. I would give myself fully, and I knew he would have me.

Later that night, I lay awake. Constanze was snoring lightly beside me, the rhythm of her breathing was low, in then out, rise then fall. A sweet girl, so innocent, she romanticized the simplest of things. Today she told me she had designed my wedding gown,"To whom am I married?" I asked her, entertaining her story, "Wolfgang of course!" She grinned, a beautiful smile.

"Stanzi! He is not marriage material - and it is unladylike to refer to a man by his given name. Herr Mozart, please." I scoffed, pushing away the desire to see her design, wondering if it was at all similar to the ones I had been dreaming about. I had imagined our vows, since the evening we ventured into the forest. I couldn't help it, there was something about him, despite his middle height and rather large nose "He asked me to call him Wolfgang!" Stanzi protested, "he said he preferred it."

I felt a tinge of jealously towards my younger sibling, "well I wouldn't spend too much time around Herr Mozart Stanzi, I wouldn't get too familiar. You don't want him to get the wrong impression." Stanzi frowned, "But he's so lovely! I think he just wants to be friends."

"Men are never satisfied with friendship - you'll understand when you're older."

Recalling that last phrase I turned my thoughts back to Wolfgang, and slid silently out of bed.

I felt the coolness of the wood planks on my bare feet as I walked in the heavy darkness, feeling my way down the hall, travelling blind. Judging by the darkness it was well past midnight. When I reached his door I stood, pulse rising in my chest, thumping madly in my throat. I was unsure, scared to proceed. With no light below the door, I knew he was likely asleep. What a fool. What was I expecting ? But I could not just turn back. I rested my hand on the door and it fell gently ajar. I froze.

Peeking in, I saw his bed, scantly making out shapes in the darkness. He had his curtains pulled open, moonlight casting itself across the room. I could make out some furniture - a desk. Piles, everywhere ! Likely music...in my effort to lean in, I accidentally opened the door, it squeaked gently as it swung. I held my breath as he stirred.  
Feeling emboldened, I tip toed past the threshold, eyeing his sleeping form. He was turned away, in a simple night shirt - quilt tangled wildly around his feet. His natural hair, cut short, stood up wildly in tufts. He frowned seriously, creasing his brow in his sleep. He had an air of restlessness, I reached out and gently pulled the quilt up to his waist. He grumbled, stirring at my touch. He looked childlike in sleep, curled feverishly, clutching at a pillow. I smiled to myself, turning to leave before I was recognized. "Aloysia?" A groggy voice muttered

I turned back towards the voice, and it called again, "Aloysia is that you? What's the matter?"

I did not answer, unsure of what to say. I'm in love with you? Don't leave me? I'm sorry for the things I said this afternoon? I couldn't utter the words. I felt the urge to burst into tears, I had so many thoughts and feelings but no voice. How wretched to feel so much and unable to express at all. Propping himself up on his elbow he pushed back the quilts and held out his hand, silently beckoning me towards him. I held my ground, panicked.

"Come" he demanded quietly

I hesitated, was this it ? I never imagined it happening this way, and before I was wed. I would shame Papa and Mama would die from grief.

"It's very late" he said softly, motioning me towards him with his extended hand, "Come." he repeated, I complied.

Kneeling gently on the feather mattress I could see his softened face, concern and confusion etched on his brow. "Lay" he said, hardly above a whisper, pulling at my waist until my back was pressed neatly against him. He coiled his arm around my side, tucking the covers around us both, lacing his fingers in mine. He was warm, wrapped around me, our bodies as close as ever - thin night clothes our only barrier. I felt evidence of his interest as we lay against one another in the darkness. I did not dare to look back at him, feeling that my eyes may betray me and grant permission when none was given. He hummed almost inaudibly, squeezing my hand softly, running his thumb gently over my knuckles.

His breathing eventually slowed, the humming ceased and then within moments, soft rumbles of sleep. I lay awake, listening to him, oddly at peace despite his announcement of Paris at dinner. 

His presence right now, was enough.

God help us if anyone finds us tangled up like this before dawn I thought to myself as I fell asleep in his arms.


	11. chapter 11 - Constanze

Chapter 11 - Constanze

At the first early light my eyes fluttered open, startled at first by the unfamiliar surroundings. An oak desk piled high with manuscripts, a simple wooden chair draped with a man's coat, white stockings flung carelessly about. A heavy set of curtains drawn open and tied back with braided cord. On the sill was the unfortunate nub of a burned candle, having gasped its last breath long ago.

Realizing my place, I sat up quickly. If Constanze is already awake there will be trouble! Remembering fragments of last night, I cursed myself – such a stupid girl! What will I tell my sisters if they find out? I pray that they will not be so fortunate.

Mozart lay on his front, nearly smothered by his own pillow. His fine hair had teased itself into a wretched nest. He stirred when I pulled back the quilt to slide off the bed, my feet quietly meeting the floor below. The bed sighed gently as I attempted to ease my way up, my body tensing at the sound of the wooden frame groaning under the shifting weight. Turning over my shoulder to see if I had awakened him or not, I was met by a pair of cool grey eyes.

"Escaping in the night?" He said groggily, scratching at the stubble that whispered at the base of his jaw. "It is neither escape, nor night." I quipped, pausing in the doorway caught mid departure.

"I was not referring to your leaving now, but more – your unexplained appearance last night." He said with a matter of fact. I waited with my hand on the handle of his door, unsure of what to say. How do I explain my actions, a young woman just appearing at his beside in the middle of the night? I did not even know, in my own mind, why I had done so. I was brought up to be a good and honest girl, but something had drawn me to it. To him. I was willing to forsake my name and my reputation just to be near him.

"I must go" That was all I could muster as I shut the door quietly. I tip toed back to my room – slipping through the open door to see to my relief, Constanze coiled up on the bed snoring softly. The curtains were pulled shut and the room was still quite dark. Thank god for her healthy sleeping habits – it would be highly unlikely that she would notice my absence in the night. She could sleep through almost anything my Stanzi!

I dressed quietly, choosing a simple frock. I was done trying to impress Herr Mozart, I needed to distance myself from that man. Last night was a terrible error, and I am blessed that he is an honest man for it could have ended much worse. At the very least, I have my honor intact and from this day forward – I will make it my duty to avoid any such proceedings.

At breakfast I sat between Mama and Papa, protecting myself by my family. As a result, Wolfgang was forced between my two sisters, Stanzi was thrilled. Poor girl, she was beside herself thinking that he had chosen that position of his own accord – but it was all too obvious that he was not in the least interested in either of them. Could I blame him?

Stanzi was a dear, sweet girl. She was dark haired, bright eyed and had the beginnings of an envious figure. She could accompany at the keyboard, sing and with a little work, she could look rather pretty. She would not be a great songstress or ever have a marble likeness made – but she would make a lovely wife and she could stand to raise a healthy brood. He chatted with her kindly, and she laughed appropriately. Poor thing.

At eleven, I excused myself from my music lesson – feigning ill. If Mozart was to be leaving for Paris within a short time, what would a few more lessons really afford me? I would no longer allow myself to be too near him. It was best to avoid his lessons all together. Instead I would remain upstairs with my reading to pass the hour. I replayed the scene in my mind as I stared at the text, I could not focus on my novel.

I kept thinking about him in the room below, his eyes were sad as he graciously accepted my excuse. He remained at the bench, and I at the door, neither one of us stepping closer. He seemed to respect my distance, though looking rather mournful. My belly ached at the thought of his apologetic eyes, his soft lashes. I wished to be near him. Oh how sweet it was to sit thigh to thigh, hands overlapping across the keys – giggling like mad at our musical nonsense. But I could not, it would be my undoing. Whatever this was, it was growing too big. It must end.

Now.

I jumped as Constanze burst into the room and threw herself on the bed with a breathy sigh.

"Stanzi! You lump! You can't simply throw yourself onto the bed, don't you see there are educated people trying to read?" I scoffed at her as she rolled over beside me "Oh Ali you'll never guess!" She squealed, ignoring my protests "Papa let me have a lesson!"

"And?" I raised a suspicious eyebrow at her. Papa gave us lessons all the time! He was our primary music tutor, teaching us to read notation – sing melodies and play harpsichord. Though we all appreciated his tutelage, none of us were very excited for the opportunity. Studying with one's father is less than riveting.

"With Wolfgang!" She grinned, "Oh my word Ali! He is the most wonderful harpsichordist I have ever heard – he played an entire sonata from one listen!" I narrowed my eyes as I listened to her story, she glorified and embellished every detail as she went, "The one I had been practicing for Papa! I played it for him and he said that it could be a little quicker, you know? So he demonstrated it for me – but you'll never guess! I had it memorized so there was no manuscript on the keyboard" she gasped, "Astounding! Not one mistake!"

"Is that all?" I said dryly, "Papa let you have my lesson with Herr Mozart, so you played a tune for him and he parroted it back to you?"

Her smile fell, "Well….Papa said you were ill so in that case I could have the lesson in your stead. And I thought you might like to hear about his –"

"Tricks?" I raised an eyebrow at her, "You know Stanzi, Herr Mozart was trained to do that as a young boy? That is a learned skill" she frowned as I continued to squash her brilliant tale, "I don't think he was doing anything especially for you Stanzi. I think he has grander things to do."

I wasn't sure why I had phrased it as I had, I could feel the thick blackness of jealously boiling towards my young sister. I hated myself for it. I hated myself for loving him. I hated myself for wanting that lesson in her place – for not being able to control my own self. Even from a distance, it appeared that he still had affects on me.

"Well, you weren't there were you? And I think he did play it for me because he likes me! He's simply shy and you – well you're just jealous!" she huffed and stormed out of the room, slamming the door on her way out. She was certainly right about at least one of those things. I buried my nose in my book and attempted to forget about her.

Stanzi sat at the top of the stairs, leaning against the wall, arms crossed angrily when Mozart had finally dismissed his last student for the afternoon. He trudged up the stairs weary from his lessons, pulling his wig off with a sigh as he climbed the last few steps.

"Stanzi?" He slowed to a stop a few steps short of the landing, seeing Constanze, the dear girl, with tears in her eyes. She sniffled and quickly wiped her cheeks with her hands, "I'm sorry Herr Mozart" she shuffled to her feet – smoothing out her pale blue skirts, locking her eyes on to the floor. Embarrassed for him to see her undone.

"My teaching was not so bad was it, poor dear?" He joked lightly in an attempt to lighten her mood, Stanzi looked up with a small smile but it quickly faded again, "No Herr Mozart. It was most enjoyable." She stepped out of his way, motioning him past. He frowned, he could not bear when ladies cried. He was never sure what to do. The young girl, she reminded him of his own sister, so lovely and innocent. "I thought we had agreed on Wolfie?" he took her hand and patted it gently, causing her to blush. He tried to change the subject, in an attempt to distract her from her thoughts.

"My sister insists on propriety Herr Mozart." She whispered "Is that so?" He snorted, though the sentiment was lost on Constanze, who was unaware of any encounters he had previously had with the elder sister.

"She thinks that I will give you a poor impression, and that it is unladylike." He remained in front of Constanze, staring at her curiously. She was rather plain, but a lovely girl nonetheless. She had considerable talent at the keyboard and from the lesson this morning, a tuneful voice – natural and clear. Obviously she had much love and adoration for her sister, however, this was proving to be a one sided affair.

"Well Frau Weber, as a matter of fact – I have travelled throughout all of Europe. I have met some of the highest nobility, played for Kings and Queens in imperial courts and I do believe that you are very much a lady." She blushed, beginning to giggle but her eyes still dewy with tears, "And do you know what else?" He leaned in very close, their chests brushing ever so slightly against one another, and in a voice barely above a whisper he added, "You're twice the lady of Miss Aloysia." He paused before adding, "Any day." He laughed at his own last comment with much gusto. Obviously finding it more entertaining from his own dealings with the lady in question.

"Please!" She giggled, joining in the laugh with a deep blush, "Ali can sing more beautifully than any of us Weber girls, without contest." Wolfgang's smile fell into a serious face immediately

"Singing skills and ladyship are not always a matched pair dear Stanzi. Though, if your father consents to further study, I think we can come close." He winked, releasing her hand with which she immediately covered her toothy smile.

"I'll ask him tonight Herr Mozart, I promise you." She bumbled and quickly curtsied as he stepped back from the landing, allowing her to descend.

"I'll wait impatiently for your reply" He called down to her as she skipped down the last few stairs and disappeared around the corner.


	12. Chapter 12

“Ali, oh you will never guess!” her dark eyes were like saucers, and her chest was heaving from having flown up the stairs at record pace. Leaning against the firmly shut door she tried to catch her breath, placing her free hand on the side of her boned bodice, her breath coming in short gasps. 

Constanze had been on the receiving end of my voice lessons with the young Maestro for a few weeks now. Having decided it was best to distance myself from him completely, I withdrew from my lessons complaining of an affliction in my throat - a simple malady that would be mended with rest. A perfect excuse, I could hide under my quilts with my nose in a book until he took for Paris. Naturally, my Papa was disappointed in this loss of the fine instruction, but he was quite surprised when Constanze stepped forward to inquire about replacing me for her own benefit. “My daughters study with the most famous young Maestro in europe!” Papa would boast to anyone who would listen, he was proud that his daughters had impressed such a travelled man with their vocal talents. He was practically giddy when Wolfgang had compared me to the finest principal soloists in Vienna. Having never heard them myself, I could not be sure if such accolade was genuine, or simply silver tongued flattery. Nevertheless, Papa was beside himself with the opportunity and of course, the notoriety!

Stanzi, nearly sixteen, was a darling girl with plain features and an even less impressive aptitude for song. She had a limited range and could muster mezzo parts at best, nothing compared to the silvery tones of my high tessatura or the powerful soprano of Josepha, our eldest sister. Stanzi wasn’t much of a musician either, preferring her needle work to her scales. Which I suppose is why Papa was so happy to comply with her request, a sudden change of heart - perhaps a Prima Dona could be made of her after all, or so he thought. I knew the truth of motivations and shook my head as she leapt at the chance to be tutored by Wolfgang. Her sudden interest in singing was due to her infatuation with Herr Mozart - a young girl, lured by a talented, arrogant music maker with a flirtatious tongue and wandering hands. Stanzi was prey, Wolfgang knew she was not destined for the stage - but he was more than happy to oblige her efforts through daily lessons. She was no diva, but at least she was something to look at, a muse or possibly just a feast for the eyes. Blossoming her own feminine features, she certainly made up for her lack of vocal ability in other, more visible ways. Mozart was more than complementary, teaching her breath control, diction and gently pushing her range each day. She would lay sprawled across our bed recounting every last detail, describing how he had taken her hand - or given her an encouraging look. She was nearly out of her mind with him and I think he played the part quite well.

This afternoon’s lesson had fallen rather silent below my feet, suspiciously so. Having begun with scales, arpeggios and the like - I tuned out the muted voices and stopped only to notice when the sound grew thinner, then ceased all together. Rather short for a lesson, I thought to myself - then I soon heard the panicked climb of feminine feet up the stairs, stopping just outside the door before Stanzi flew in wildly...

“From the looks of it I probably will.” I raised my eyebrows at her from my place on the bed, “Is this about a Mozart?” I said coolly, trying not to let the black pool of jealousy spill out, she was only a child! What could he possibly want with a plain little thing like Stanzi? Then again, the same man had no difficulty exploring my assets on more than one occasion, so why not anyone else? I fingered my silver pendant while recalling our tryst in the wooded area just down the path. He had taken full advantage of the situation, what was I to do? He only let up, likely in fear of being caught! “That is not my place to educate you” I recalled him saying as he pushed my hands away and stood up to right himself, and the heated incident in the carriage to the garden party - what of that? I scoffed at the memory and closed my book.

She jumped when she heard a series of loud footsteps barreling up the stairs, stopping familiarly just outside our door. She was being pursued. Her eyes grew wider and she stared at me like a doe about to be slain, “Ali!” she whispered lowly in a hushed panic, then came a knock on the door. “What do I do?” she mouthed silently to me, pressing the full weight of her body against the door protectively. 

“Oh Stanzi move!” I huffed, swinging my legs off of the bed and plopping my bare feet onto the cold boards below. Pushing the delirious young girl out of my way, I threw open the door with my hands on my hips, daringly wearing only my night frock, my hair down and eyes blazing. Wolfgang flew back from the door, obviously having been pressed to it in attempts to listen through to the other side.

“Oh, Frauline!” he said sheepishly, beginning to blush as he registered my state of relative undress, “Excuse me…” he muttered as he backed away, just as Stanzi poked her head out from behind me. “Stanzi” he paused, stepping forward but then hesitating when he noted my disapproving glare. He looked to me and was met with a threatening scowl, he then looked to Stanzi apologetically. “Can I help you Herr Mozart?” I spat coldly.

“I….no.” He bowed stiffly and turned towards his room, practically running inside and closing the door quickly behind him. I stood in the doorway to our room for a moment, watching his door - would he peak his head out? What did I care, it was done. I turned back to my sister who was staring at me with her mouth agape. “Ali! Why would you scare him away like that? And in your night dress!” she hissed, “You’re practically…..”

“Naked?” I crossed my arms defiantly, “Hardly Stanzi - and do you really think that Mozart fellow is so innocent that he’s never seen a woman in a state of undress?” Stanzi sat on the bed with a sigh, “Do you think so?” she questioned 

“Darling, I know for certain.” Truthfully, I did know! 

“I don’t think Wolfie is like that Ali, he’s so sweet and kind.” she protested childishly, “And he’ll take whatever he can get his talented little hands on!” I quipped, beginning to lace up a simple bodice and shimmying into a heavy skirt. “Aloysia!” she scolded, “Rude!”

After a time as I was pinning up my hair and about to walk out, leaving her to daydream alone, she asked quietly, “Are you about to go scold to him?” I snorted in response, tucking my last curl up and securing it with a small pin just above my ear.

“He doesn’t deserve to speak to me child!” I said flippantly, opening the door and practically running straight into the devil himself. 

“Wolfgang!” I gasped as I collided with him fully, “Please excuse me Frauline, I was about to knock.” he sputtered, smoothing out his jacket, casting his eyes down fearing another confrontation. “Again? What business do you have with my sister?” I eyed him suspiciously, “I have some notes from our lesson this afternoon that I said I would write out for her. I have them now - here” he pressed the small book into my hands with an impish smile, his blue eyes begging for mercy. He backed away and stood with his hands behind his back, waiting for my response.

“Stanzi!” I called over my shoulder, “Your tutor is here to see you.” I said salaciously and colour began to rise in Wolfgang’s cheeks. Stanzi slinked into the hallway, keeping her back to the wall, her small hands tucked behind her as she too feared my judgemental stare.

“And when were you leaving us again, Herr Mozart?” I said casually, my toned was tinged with acid, “For Paris that is….” 

“Unconfirmed Madame.” He cleared his throat, “The commission has been paused due to my mother’s ailing health. I cannot leave until she has made a full recovery.”

“Oh? Can you only tour in the company of your Mama?” Turning to look back at Stanzi who was making serious work of studying the floor, “I had no idea an artist of your stature required chaperoning, you must give your parents quite the reason to worry - why else the watchful eye?”  
His eyes flashed angrily towards me, but he knew better than to engage - he simply stood, crossing his arms, waiting for my next hit.Obviously he knew his place as a guest in our home, fed at the generosity of my Papa. He wouldn’t risk his next meal on a petty argument with a scorned soprano, however, the very fact that he was not arguing with me was a concern in itself. Was it true that he could not travel unsupervised? I did not like where he was leading my adoring young sister, she was too innocent and too juvenile to be allowed near this lecherous creature. I had made my own mistakes but it was my duty to protect her.

“Think what you wish Madame, however you must know I have only the most honest intentions and wish only to share my music with the world. My Mama is meant as a travel companion and an agent of sorts, to keep me on schedule from one engagement to the next. When one travels and performs as often as I do, it becomes an impossible to task to manage every event on one’s own.” He said smoothly, feeling brazen enough to take my hand, “I am certain one day soon, you too will know the rigours of a performing career mein Leibling.” He pressed his lips to my knuckles, never breaking his eyes from mine. My urge to rip my hand away faded, despite my mind screaming at me to push him away and perhaps deliver a slap across his perfect little face.

Stanzi covered her grin with her hands, trying to stifle a shy giggle. She could hardly contain herself watching the dramatic slaying of the Weber dragoness right before her eyes. Leaving me fuming, he released my hands and seized the opportunity to march past me and over to poor Stanzi who practically squealed when he took her hands and patted them as he spoke, “Please read over the notes I wrote and perhaps your sister will help you with the diction before I see you next.” He whispered something to her that I could not hear which caused her to blush wildly, eyeing me cautiously he backed away and bowed to us, “Damen, I shall see you this evening.” He retreated to his room, closing the door behind him quietly leaving my sister and I both stunned in the hall. Looking to Stanzi I sighed, tossing the book to her - “Here. I’m going for a walk.” She nodded and I glanced back at his door, still shut. “Don’t even think about it Stanzi. Learn the text, that is all.” She nodded compliantly and turned back to our room, I left her with her little red book - only slightly curious at these notes he had crafted especially for her. I was certain she would tell all when I returned from my walk. 

Later that evening as Stanzi and I were preparing for bed, I sat brushing her hair as she struggled with the scrawl of Mozart’s pen. “I hate Italian! Why would he write me something Italian if he knows it is the language I struggle with the most?” I chuckled, brushing back a thick strand of her dark curls, “He’s supposed to be teaching you something you do not know Stanzi, not something you already do.” She growled with frustration and tossed the book onto the floor. “I don’t even understand what I’m memorizing!”

“Well, perhaps he will explain it to you in your lesson tomorrow.” I offered as she crawled under the quilts with a huff. “He wanted me to learn it for tomorrow - not learn it tomorrow!” I picked up the small book which had fallen open onto its pages, creasing the blue inked scribblings. “I’ll read it tonight and teach it to you tomorrow morning, not to worry Stanzi, I’m sure it’s not as bad as all that.” She frustratedly mashed a pillow over her face, abruptly ending our conversation. “I’ll come to bed in a minute Stanzi” I soothed, stroking her bare arms, she grunted in response. Poor thing, she desperately wanted to impress Wolfgang but he cruelly faced her with an impossible task. Picking through the pages a few words caught my eye, “Libidine, gemito, seno” What on earth was this - I read the sultry text over again, to be sure of it’s wording,

Come to me my sweet darling  
Come to me my love  
In the evening when it’s dark, you shall know my lust  
The only music in the night should be your gentle moans

By the time I had translated the text fully, Stanzi had begun to snore softly, I pityfully shook my head. Reading it a third time over I acknowledged that the cleverly written notation was indeed scored beautifully - a gentle largo, almost a lullaby. Written above her range though, Stanzi would never be able to sing so far from the staff without great strain - and what a text! The subject was completely inappropriate, was he hoping that she would not know the meaning of it, or worse, that she would? Anger for that little man child was growing inside me once again as I slipped out of bed quietly and wrapped a wool shawl around my shoulders, gripping the censor worthy book as I padded down the dark hallway and deciding against knocking, simply threw open his door. Jumping up from his writing in complete surprise, he nearly knocked over his ink, it threatened to spill out over the score that he had been hunched over - his desk was illuminated by a single candle, dwindling down to it’s last pathetic nub. “Aloysia!” he yelped in surprise, looking about wildly, noting Stanzi’s little red book clutched aggressively in my steely fingers. “Where did you get this text?” I demanded, bare feet striding right up to him so that we were practically nose to nose.

“I…” he back into his desk - bumping the tools that lay about on its top. “Well….” he stumbled over his words as I pressed the book against his chest angrily, “Where.” I hissed, narrowing my eyes.  
“I wrote it.” he coughed, admitting quietly. I stared at him in complete shock, I suppose on some level I had expected that answer but had been hoping it was a poor choice in pedagogy rather than filth from his own mind. “For you actually…” he sat slowly down onto the stool he had been perched on when I barged in, “You’ll notice it’s not exactly Stanzi material. The range is too wide and the technique it demands will take her years to master. I thought it would be a challenge for her though.” I was completely baffled, was this a compliment or some sort of trickery? I was at a loss for words.

“You are fortunate that my sister knows little Italian - I read the text and it’s wholly inappropriate.” He grinned, “I know, but again, it was written for you.” He gently pried the book from my hand, tossing it onto his desk and took both of my hands, looking mournfully up at me he lamented, “Since you’ve decidedly cast me aside, I thought nothing of gifting your songs to Constanze, considering she is so eager to match her big sisters - why not allow her to try something tailored to you?” Choosing not to respond, he continued - pressing my hands to his face, nuzzling them gently, “You are a most talented soprano, and I miss our lessons dearly. I wish you would not push me away as you do.” He said with a whimper, kissing the insides of my wrists. At that moment, I should have backed away, returned to my room, put him in his place - something! Alas, I was frozen, that familiar feeling in my gut awakened by his touch, soft and gentle. Looking down at his large blue eyes, framed by those soft lashes I couldn’t help but lean into his touch. He smiled hearing my silent accord, pulling me down onto his knees. “I must go my darling” he whispered between the kisses that he showered along my neck, tightening his arms around my sides, drawing my back towards him. “I cannot stay in Mannheim forever” he pulled my hair gently over one shoulder to expose the crook of my neck as he began to nip there causing me to squirm. “Will you ever forgive me?” He turned me to face him directly, my cheeks flush and eyes dark. I freed my hands from his grip and pulled him forward, crushing his lips to mine. I could taste Mama’s sweet coffee from earlier that evening and a hint of dark wine. With a gentle hiss, the candle finally sputtered and gave out, sending a weak plume of smoke into the darkness of his small room. Breaking our kiss, he pressed his forehead to mine, “Time for bed.” he whispered. I felt the urge to protest the abrupt end of our passion, before I realized that he had no intention of sending me on my way. Wrapping his arms under my legs and back he lifted me impressively and carried me through complete darkness to the small bed just feet from where we were. Wasting no time, he was quickly on top of me, having resumed his earlier attentions. Scenes from our evening walk through the woods flashed in my mind as he unbuttoned the bodice of my night dress, exposing my bare chest to the cool air. Feeling appreciatively in the dark he caressed each breast, fingering my pert nipples tentatively. His weight limited my movement, but it was an oddly welcome crushing sensation. Edging up the hem of my dress and nudging apart my thighs with his own, he was quick to have me in a compromising position. I could not make myself care for the moment as I arched into his kisses, shuddering at the touch of his hands. He brazenly traced a swift trail down to my inner thigh, raking across my most sensitive area. Instinctively I tried pulling away, he hushed me, “Ali, please - I promise you.” pressing his forehead to my own, registering my anxiety, “I would never hurt you.” Kissing me to both soothe and silence, his fingers found a most wondrous spot and began manipulating slowly, my stomach tightening as his touch. “You see?” he kissed my cheek as he concentrated on his ministrations, listening for signs of my approval. I began to pant, my breath coming in ladden bursts, small whimpers escaping my open mouth. “Good girl” he would whisper encouragingly as my thighs began to quiver, I gripped his arms with such strength that I thought he would protest but no, it seemed moreso encouragement. Pressing his mouth to mine, exploring with his tongue, I let out a small moan as I felt the tightness in my belly reach unbearable levels. I pushed against his hands, seeking mercy but he only increased his efforts until I threatened to spill over completely. “Bella, it’s alright…” he cooed softly in my ear as I felt it. A wash, a rippling heat that pulsed through my body causing waves of shuddering convulsions leaving me panting wildly and damp with sweat. My aching legs fell limply against his sides and I felt as if I had melted under him. Dazed by the sudden overpowering tidal wave, I barely registered him removing what remained of his own clothing. Even in the dark I could still make out the masculine differences in his silhouette, he was thin but wirey, making quick work of his breeches and shirt he resumed his position. 

Still reeling from our earlier moment, I had little energy to resist as he began to kiss and nibble against my neck and chest, running his hands warmingly over my trembling thighs. Something bumped against me, there. My eyes flew open and I opened my mouth to protest but his hand flew to cover it. “Ssh - I’ll stop if that’s what you wish.” Muted by his hand I paused and he slowly dropped his guard, “Aloysia?” I weighed my options, and shrugged off my better judgement - being too far into this moment to stop now. I kissed him hungrily and in response and I felt him smile into it, lifting one of my thighs to rest over his hip he pushed himself against me, meeting initial resistance. “Kiss me are hard as you can” he whispered needily and I gladly complied, not prepared for the unpleasant pinching that came next. I yelped and squirmed, immediately shaken from what had a been until that point a most pleasurable experience. “It’s done Ali, the worst is over.” he reassured me, stroking my hair as I struggled feebly. “Is it over?” I asked, barely above a whisper and he chuckled, kissing me chastely “Not quite…” when he drew back I felt the soreness below, and then again when he began to thrust, gentle at first then building vigour. I lay still completely in awe of the proceedings, allowing him to do what he must. After a short while he too began to whimper gently, his movements becoming more frenzied and desperate. Finally he stifled a groan and stiffened, his middle tensing and trembling terribly. He finally collapsed on top of me panting with exhaustion, squeezing the last breath out of me. We lay like this for some time, unable to move or to untangle from one another. I stroked his hair absently as his breathing slowed to normal and he slowly rolled to one side, reaching to pull me close. “Most perfect” he murmured, tucking the quilts around our bodies. “Most perfect.” I am not sure how long it was before we were both asleep, but I knew something had changed forever in that moment. But what, I could not yet be sure.


End file.
